The Shanaqui
by AchrenDuaite
Summary: A continuation of an excellent book - The Culai Heritage, by Michael Scott - that no one has ever heard of. This can be understood even without having read the novel, but I highly suggest you do.
1. Visiting Death

Chapter 1 (Visiting Death)  
  
Paedur stopped, looking about him suspiciously. The Silent Wood was aptly named, but he was alert and wary for the frai-forde, or Starlorn. He mentally delved through his bardic lore, searching for information to supplement his memory about the peculiar race. According to popular legend, the frai-forde hailed from the east, The Land of the Sun, and sailed eternally in huge ships made from silver and gold. The bard, however, knew otherwise. The curiously featured Lorn hailed from another Plane of Existence, one of the many gameboards of the gods. The dead frai-forde served as guardians to the gates of the Wood. Shades though they were, the creatures were still very strong, and only a few could kill them. Luckily, the bard was one of the few.  
  
He paused briefly in his long strides, picking up a few flat stones with jagged edges. These he stored in a soft brown pouch at his waist and trudged on. The stones would serve as a weapon against the Starlorn- crude replicas of the talon, a closely guarded secret of the Katan Sisterhood. Katani, a long-dead warrior whom the bard had raised again to life, had shown the bard the design for the only weapon that could easily kill the frai-forde. The eyes of the creatures were too weak and slow to spot the speeding piece of metal that was the talon. By the time they noticed it was always too late and the thrown talon was buried in their brain-  
  
But enough of this musing. The bard noticed that his feet in their ancient boots had stopped, of their own accord, just before a small rise in the gravelly grey land. With a sudden burst of urgent energy, Paedur cleared it in one leap, and landed squarely in front of a Starlorn guard. He drew back instantly, the silver hook that took the place of his left hand coming up protectively. His furred cloak fell back, revealing the bardic sigil high on his left shoulder. Without showing any signs of recognition, the creature halted and stepped aside, clearing the bard's path to the Three Bridges. The bard's inquisitive mind wondered briefly at this, but he continued on his way.  
  
Crossing the bridges between the Wood and Manach, City of the Dead, the bard sighed reminiscently. The Three Bridges had been built in honor of Mannam, Deathgod of the Old Faith, and crossed Naman, the river of Death. However, the bard had deposed the corrupt god and put Churon the Onelord in his place. The bridges were built of, in turn representing, wood for the god's body, stone for his heart and crystal for his eyes. The god had affected the form of a blasted tree, with a leafy cloak hiding his face.  
  
The bard arrived at the entrance to Manach, throwing wide the ancient iron gates and watching in amusement as a pair of startled bainte took flight. He watched as they soared off in the direction of the highest tower in Manach.  
  
"The Tower of Time." the bard muttered knowingly to himself. He quickened his pace through the eerie streets, not through fear but through urgency in his mission.  
  
Approaching the stone arch that marked the entrance to the Tower, the bard scraped his hook along the cold granite. The shimmering barrier that hovered in the space disintegrated, and Paedur smiled. The bainte had done their work. He was expected.  
  
The bard slowly climbed the stone staircase, stopping several times for air and rest. When in the World of Men, he could have managed steps like these in the worst condition. But here, he was only a man. Everyone entered Death's kingdom on equal terms.  
  
Finally reaching the round chamber that marked the top of the Tower, Paedur stopped and leaned against the wall. He caught his breath sharply, staring at the cracked sundial that indicated, "Here, even Time is dead." Calling softly, but clearly, he said, "Death, I seek your aid."  
  
A gust of chill wind blew about him, ruffling the bard's furred cloak but not disturbing the dust of ages on the floor. A sibilant whisper hailed from the shadows, cackling softly.  
  
"Death cannot aid. Death can only kill."  
  
The voice as of yet had no material form, but Paedur instinctively crouched in a fighting stance, the silver hook gleaming dully as it made its appearance once again. He was agonizingly aware of how vulnerable he was without his enhanced senses, and he wished for them fervently, not for the last time.  
  
Mannam and Paedur had not cared overmuch for each other's company. But the Onelord, Churon, was different. As he had, not so long ago, been the shade of a man, he still held some measure of respect for the bard. Thus, he materialized, ceasing his grisly game of charades.  
  
"Bard." He said, his voice more like that of a man's now and less like that of a murderous wraith. "What is it you want of me?"  
  
The god was clad in a mantle that flowed and moved like cloth, but looked exactly like stone.  
  
Paedur lowered his hook, remembering with a grim smile who he was threatening. "I seek your aid." he repeated, sitting, knees to chest, on the cool stone floor. Extending a long forefinger, he ran it along the blade of his hook, then brushed a strand of straight, dark hair out of his jet black eyes.  
  
"All the gods are busy tending to their own, after the great battle, both on this plane and the chequered fields of Ab Apsalom." he began, his voice trained, smooth and lyrical as a Bard Master's was wont to be.  
  
"My companion, Katani, who was wounded by the Old High Magic, is near death and delirious. Ochrann, the God of Healing, as well as Madness and Coulide Dream-Maker, will not heed my calls. Only another of the Pantheon can draw them away from their subjects, and you are my- closest acquaintance."  
  
Churon looked at the bard solemnly, knowing all too well what Paedur was asking him to do. "You desire the aid of C'lte also?" The god sighed, naming the third part of the Triad of Life.  
  
The bard nodded slowly. "Yes. That would be helpful." 


	2. Reunion

Chapter 2 (Reunion)  
  
Churon closed his eyes, appearing to be meditating on the bard's request. Slowly, a section of the room grew darker, and the darkness seemed to writhe and twist, while a child's laughter echoed inside it, eventually changing to hysterical screams. Madness had arrived.  
  
The bard rose smoothly to his feet, watching a flickering tendril of blue flame snake along his hook, feeling the heat from the god-wrought metal bleeding into the bone of his wrist.  
  
"Madness." he addressed coolly as the bronze eyes of the god turned on him. "Please, wait, there are still others to come."  
  
A cool breeze filled the room, smelling faintly of spring and new life. A pale beam of blue-green light in one corner began to swell and grow into the faintly shining figure of a kindly faced man in the dress of a village physician.  
  
"Ochrann." said Paedur. "I thank you." The healing god inclined his head slightly and went to stand near Death. Even death's company was preferred to that of madness.  
  
Next a cloud appeared, drifting in through the paneless window. Three gods and a shanaqui turned to look, for clouds were an unknown thing in the Silent Wood. It spun and shifted, changing color from blue to red to black and all others in between, mutters and murmurs in every language emitting from its core.  
  
"Master of Dreams, you honor me." Paedur said, as the cloud was replaced by a man whose visage was constantly changing from boyish youth, to hard-faced king, to wizened sorcerer.  
  
There was but one god left to arrive. The bard shielded his dark eyes from the brilliant golden light that flooded the room. A yellow-clad youth, yellow eyed and shining with a yellow light, appeared suddenly in their midst. Paedur cried out in pain as the clashing forces of Life and Death assaulted his sensitive aura. Alarmed, both gods stepped to either side of the chamber and stifled the raw power radiating from their auras.  
  
"Bard." The yellow god said sharply.  
  
Paedur slowly straightened and faced the god. "C'lte. Forgive me, I have never completely experienced the battle between life and death."  
  
C'lte laughed harshly. "You, bard? At this moment that battle is leeching energy from the very gods themselves. State your business and let us get on with this."  
  
Paedur sighed and slowly turned to face Madness, the bronze eyed god muttering and chuckling quietly.  
  
"Madness!" barked the bard, and the Nameless God's head snapped towards him.  
  
"Bard." the sibilant voice replied. "What do you want with Madness?"  
  
Paedur's trained voice took over as he delivered his request. "My companion, Katani, has dwelt in your realm too long. Release her mind, you have many others to satiate your hunger."  
  
"Now, why would I do that?" Madness asked, giggling.  
  
The bard's eyes glittered coldly. "I have added many to your number in my travels. Release Katani."  
  
Madness stopped laughing. "Your words ring true, bard. To any other I would have refused, but for our champion, I will return the warrior- maid's sanity."  
  
Paedur smiled thinly. "I thank you, Madness. You may return to your business, your presence here is appreciated." Madness giggled maniacally and vanished.  
  
Paedur turned to C'lte. "C'lte, Katani is on the verge of death. Pour new life into her that she may live."  
  
C'lte regarded the bard for a moment with golden eyes, then nodded. Yellow-tinged life forces began to radiate from him, soaring off towards the gates of the Silent Wood. His work completed, the third part of the Triad of life vanished in a flash of brilliant yellow light.  
  
Paedur faced Ochrann, god of healing. "Ochrann, Katani has been scarred and lamed in her last battle, while attempting to protect me. Mend her scars and make her whole again."  
  
Ochrann vanished, gone for but a moment, then returned. "She is whole, bard." he said.  
  
"I thank you." Paedur replied, as the healing god faded and disappeared.  
  
Finally, the bard stepped towards the god of dreams. "Coulide, Dream- Maker, my companion sleeps, living, whole, and sane. Send her a peaceful dream that she may wake healthy and refreshed." Coulide smiled slightly, closed his cloud-grey eyes and was gone.  
  
Exhausted from the power of all the gods beating upon his mental defenses, Paedur slumped down to lean against the stone wall.  
  
"Bard." warned Churon. "My kingdom is draining you. You must leave before it destroys you altogether." The shanaqui nodded and rose, holding out a thin-fingered, pale hand. Death clasped it in his strong, black one, and suddenly the bard was hurtling through a void. 


	3. TaleSpinner

Chapter 3 (Tale-Spinner)  
  
Paedur "landed" safely on the stone floor where he had begun his telepathic journey, his near-black eyes opening immediately. He stood quickly, his hook scraping along the wooden beams holding the roof up until it caught, steadying his tall form. Mental exhaustion disoriented him, and it took more than a moment to get accustomed to his enhanced senses again.  
  
The bard's sensitive ears caught sounds of his companion waking. He dislodged his hook from the wood and went to her side.  
  
"Katani." he said quietly, as her white-blonde lashes fluttered open. She stirred slightly at his voice, then sat bolt upright.  
  
"Bard! What happened?"  
  
"I sought the aid of the gods." He replied. "You are healed."  
  
With a heavy sigh, Paedur slid to the floor with his back to the wall, knees bent to his slumped shoulders. As his thin, sharp-featured face tilted towards his chest, the hookhanded bard fell into a catatonic sleep.  
  
************************************************************************  
Katani sat quietly, polishing her sister swords, looking at the sleeping bard from time to time. As she laid aside her short sword, finished, she turned once again to check on Paedur, and started in surprise. The bard was staring back at her.  
  
"How long have you been awake?" she asked, turning back to her sword polishing.  
  
"Since dusk," he replied, looking out the window at the grey sky of twilight. Katani remained silent for a moment.  
  
"Why did you tax your strength so much, bard? You could have been killed!" she exploded suddenly. Paedur did not seem at all surprised at Katani's total lack of gratitude. He had brought her from the Silent Wood, and could read her as well as any of his scrolls.  
  
"Yes, that is true. However, I do have trouble staying dead." he said, what may have been taken for wry amusement dancing in his shadowed eyes.  
  
Katani glared at him. This man, no, creature- he had long ago ceased to be a man- laughed in the face of his own destruction. The description Death himself had given fit Paedur uncannily well: "Cold, unhuman, and more than a little mad." The warrior woman frowned, sheathing her other sword. She supposed the bard didn't worry about his damnation because Deathgods continued to expel him from the realm of the dead. The hookhanded storyteller seemed to cause an unwanted stir wherever he went- even to the Silent Wood.  
  
The Katan Warrior shook white-blonde hair out of her face, trying to clear her mind of these dark thoughts.  
  
"You are troubled." Paedur commented. He apparently was sensing this rather than seeing it, for his head was tilted down, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the runes on his hook. He still didn't know what they meant.  
  
"Yes, I am." Katani replied. It disturbed her to think so deeply. During her first life, she had needed to contemplate her decisions very little. Ever since she had joined the bard, her thoughts had become more complicated, and black ideas plagued her consciousness with indecision and yes, sometimes fear. She needed something to keep her mind occupied.  
  
"Bard!"  
  
His head snapped up, fixing her with those terrifying, mirror-like eyes. Katani suppressed a shudder.  
  
"You are the shanaqui, the Tale-Spinner. Tell me a tale."  
  
He contemplated for a moment, as if unsure to carry out the order that bound him to his craft.  
  
"Very well. What would you have?"  
  
"Tell me of the founding of the Katan Sisterhood."  
  
Paedur regarded her, and had he betrayed an emotion the look would have been quizzical. "An odd choice. I would have thought you knew it."  
  
However, he continued, the smooth, trained voice of a Bard Master spilling into the room like sound made liquid.  
  
"The story of the Katan Sisterhood began long ago, just after the Cataclysm." Paedur began, mentally calling up his Bardic Voice as he spoke.  
  
"A young girl, by name Fand, grew to womanhood in a small  
fishing village that sprung up on one of the nameless Arrow Isles.  
  
Raised in poverty, the girl nonetheless grew to be quite  
lovely, and she attracted the attention of a youth, the youngest son  
of a travelling tinker. They were wed in secret, but when their child,  
a daughter, was born, Fand's father (who was a cruel man), had her  
husband killed.  
  
Fand was heartbroken, and embittered. Training herself in the  
skills of battle, she brought up her daughter to be a woman warrior, a  
fierce fighter who could defeat all who opposed her. Fand herself had  
gone slightly mad with the years of living with the burning hatred of  
her father, and had sharpened her canine teeth to resemble that of  
some wild animal. When her daughter was of age, she did the same, out  
of respect for her mother's pain.  
  
Fand forbade her daughter ever to marry, bidding her instead  
find a man who was her equal in battle and gain a child from him, but  
not to allow him to join the already growing group of woman warriors  
Fand and her daughter taught. The group began to call themselves the  
Sisterhood, following Fand's practices, and when the woman finally  
died, her daughter took over the role as leader. She was a great  
leader, fierce and brave, and much preferred over Fand, who had begun  
to lose her wits completely towards the end of her life. Fand's  
daughter herself was eventually killed in battle, and her survivors  
named their Sisterhood 'Katan,' in the woman's honor. Fand's daughter  
kept the rites and teachings of her mother, and the Sisterhood grew in  
strength and number, becoming the most feared group of warriors ever  
to go into battle, until the last Battle of the Sand Plain."  
  
The bard's voice died away like the ripples of a pebble thrown into a calm pool. Katani's eyes stared off into space, obviously still hearing the bard's tale in her head. When a Bard Master tells a tale, everyone listens, and the warrior-maid's reaction was a great tribute to Paedur's storytelling.  
  
"What was the name of Fand's daughter?" she asked suddenly.  
  
Paedur looked at her, a slight smile lingering on his thin lips.  
  
"Ah, I wasn't sure you would ask. You see, Fand's daughter was your own namesake. Her name was Katani." 


	4. Baddalaur

Chapter Four (Baddalaur)  
  
A group of robbers stood outside a large stone building, arguing in hushed tones as the grey of a false dawn began to creep over the horizon. They had come to this building not long ago, and the flicker of a candle in the upper window betrayed life inside. A place such as this, Culai-hewn and sitting just off King's road, offered little promise of a rich raid. Its location in the outer edges of the Wastelands should have discouraged the robbers as well. But the matter had been decided. Unsheathing a slim lock- picking stiletto, the man appearing to be the leader moved forward- not noticing the tall, cloaked figure half-hidden by the shadows. As he inserted the blade into the ancient iron lock, a silver hook shot out, neatly severing his spine so the thief fell, twitching, to the ground.  
  
The other robbers leaped back, shouting in surprise as the owner of the hook stepped into the grey twilight.  
  
Paedur smiled mockingly, the silver light of the dying stars making his thin, pale face look like a skull.  
  
Two thieves ran toward the bard, and he swung his hook low, slicing open both their abdomens. They staggered back, faces white with shock as their own vitals spilled into their trembling hands. The last man turned to run, and a whistling longsword took his head off his shoulders. An armor- clad Katani stepped out from behind a tree.  
  
"Damn." Katani muttered, looking at the sword that she would now have to polish again. "Going to save any for me, bard?" She asked, sharpened teeth bared in a smile.  
  
"It appears I did not have to." Paedur said dryly, cleaning his hook on a robber's cloak. Katani wiped her blade and sheathed it. The sword could be polished later.  
  
"We are low on supplies bard." She informed him. In actuality, she was low on supplies. The food that she needed to stay alive, Paedur never touched. And the fuel that kept her warm and lit her way, the bard could survive without. Neither made any mention of this, as if an unspoken pact prevented them from mentioning the shanaqui's power- or curse.  
  
The bard rested his hook on his own cheek, as if deep in thought. The nearest town was Baddalaur, a Bardhouse city, located to the far north on the opposite end of King's Road from the Empire. It was half a day's march away.  
  
"Come then, ready a pack. We will take the road to Baddalaur. I believe there will be an interesting welcome for us there."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The pair reached the Bardhouse city late that afternoon, but then they had been moving at a leisurely pace. Neither was in any hurry to reach the village, where they would be subject to curious and sometimes accusing stares. After all, it was not every day the town was visited by a warrior woman from a clan long dead, and the fabled, inhuman Champion of the Old Faith. Paedur's dark, reflective eyes frightened the townspeople as he looked coldly back at them, but even this ceased to provide him mild amusement. He pulled the cowl of his furred cloak up over his head, hiding his face from view. Katani tried to ignore those who stared at her armor (made from the skins of the giant ice serpents of Thusal), which glinted in the sunlight. Eventually, however, the two entered the marketplace, where there were more colorful characters, and attention was not directed solely at the warrior and the bard.  
  
Katani and the bard wandered through the market stalls, examining the wares. Every so often, one of them would reach out and make the silent exchange- goods for coin. The marketplace was strangely quiet. Apparently, their presence made an impact, even here.  
  
Supplies restocked, the pair would have left the market, never having disturbed the peace. However, a solitary man decided to discover what happened when one attacked a Katan warrior.  
  
Paedur had turned to leave, dark cloak swirling about him, when he heard the warrior-maid's angry shout.  
  
"Bard!"  
  
A hugely muscled man, possibly a blacksmith, held Katani, her arms behind her back, unable to reach her swords. She snarled, sounding startlingly animalistic, and attempted to kick and bite at the man with her sharpened teeth.  
  
In an instant the bard was at her side, a thin smile playing about his lips.  
  
"I strongly suggest you release my companion. immediately." He said, voice polite but deadly cold.  
  
A villager, presumably a companion of the 'smith's, rushed at Paedur. The offending man found his blows passing through empty air, as the bard now stood behind the smith- his hook pressed against the man's throat.  
  
"I believe you were told to release Katani." he said quietly.  
  
With a strangled shout, a youth ran at Paedur, swinging a broad- bladed Chopt knife. There was a loud shriek and a snap as the mortal blade scraped along the furred cloak, finally breaking. The bard turned, and the gathering crowd stepped back in unison, murmurs of fear running through the marketplace like a grassfire. His reflective eyes now blazed with an inhuman flame that terrified all who were present- including Katani. She stood frozen as her captor released her.  
  
The shanaqui spoke, and his Bardic Voice projected what would have been normal conversational speech throughout the market.  
  
"You will now cease your attacks and allow me, and my companion, to leave this market in peace." he ordered. "You will all finish your business here and return to your homes, and you will not leave until midday tomorrow."  
  
The townspeople nodded woodenly and resumed carrying out their affairs in silence. Paedur beckoned to Katani and the two left the market, heading not towards the town gates, but to the bardhouse. 


	5. False Ressurection

Chapter Five (False Resurrection)  
  
Katani followed in wary silence, hand on the hilt of her short sword. She had seen a demonstration of the bard's power before, but now he held an entire town under thrall- for their convenience. What was it that she was following?  
  
Ahead, Paedur stopped and turned to face her. His tall form was silhouetted against the dying sunset, and with the backdrop of bloody light he resembled nothing short of a Duaiteoiri.  
  
"You do yourself no honor, Katan," His voice said, ice cold and echoing hollowly within her head. "And you belittle the sacrifice I have made for you. You know and always have known what you follow- something less and yet more than a man. You know what I am."  
  
Katani nodded, something like shame breaking through her iron-hard mask of emotionless ferocity.  
  
"Yes." She replied simply. "You are the shanaqui, the Tale-Spinner. One of the god-sought, god-taught."  
  
Paedur smiled thinly. "Just so."  
  
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The bard stood silently in the bardhouse library, staring into the flames of a large stone fireplace. They had been welcomed here, though many of the elders and Bard Masters disliked Paedur, calling him a heretic- always behind his back, of course.  
  
He had also had a difficult time convincing some that he was not dead. The village of Baddalaur had ignorant occupants who failed to notice that he had in fact "died" in the Last Battle. In the bardhouse, however, his death was the accepted theory, and the sudden appearance of Paedur and his companion had alarmed many. Indeed, some had come dangerously close to joining the Nameless God that day. He mused absently, recalling the expressions on several of their faces, and laughed quietly. The townspeople had been angry; the bards, terrified.  
  
He shook his head, reflective eyes catching the light of the licking flames. Would he always be feared? He smiled grimly, without mirth but full of irony. People feared what they did not understand, and the bard would always be misunderstood. He had seen example of this in the market that day.  
  
He had done the town of Baddalaur a great service, saving it from sure destruction at the hands of the fearsome Chopts. But, in the same instant the people caught a glimpse of his arcane hook or saw themselves reflected in his dark-mirror eyes, any gratitude would change to fear- and hate. Usually, the people's fear did not bother him. But Katani. Since he had met her, the bard had detected little fear of anything in the warrior- maid's thoughts or aura. But memory of her fear today almost haunted him- almost. Paedur had bargained with his life when he accepted the Pantheon's geasa, and he had paid a terrible price for his immortality. What was human about him had been taken away, and what was left was godlike- and terrifying. Now almost all who encountered the sinister storyteller feared him.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
The next morning, Katani was to be found meditating in the courtyard. Her grotesque helmet lay on the ground beside her seated form, and her usually fierce amber eyes were closed in concentration. It was customary for a warrior-maid, in times of need, to seek advice from the shades of their Katan ancestors.  
  
It was a difficult process, contacting the dead, especially for a warrior. Only the most skilled could do it. Katani prided herself in that she was one of the best. Thus, when she heard the almost silent footfalls behind her, her sword left its scabbard with a barely audible whisper- and pointed straight at Paedur's throat.  
  
With a gasp of surprise she pulled it back. "Paedur!"  
  
He looked from her to the blade curiously. The bloodcurdling shriek that usually hailed the appearance of her swords was absent.  
  
"The sound is for show." Katani explained, reading his expression. "If it is necessary to exercise stealth, I can unsheath it silently." She added, a touch of well-deserved pride in her voice. Paedur cleared his throat loudly.  
  
"Were you going to stab me?"  
  
She laughed dryly, sheathing the shortsword. "I thought you were one of those damned pages come to 'escort' me back to my rooms- where they can keep an eye on me, that is."  
  
"Aye, I had several attempting to spy on me. I say attempting because when I pulled back the tapestry from behind which they were watching me, they ran off as if they'd seen one of the Duaite."  
  
She growled. "There have been three of them so far. I told them that if they sent another I'd cut him to bits." She grinned fiercely, sharpened canines lending her a feral look.  
  
"You are vicious." He smiled, the unusual expression softening his sharp features and making him look almost human.  
  
"I am Katan." She amended proudly.  
  
He looked at the sky; reflective eyes taking on the brilliant light of Nusas, the sun, and he shielded them out of habit more than necessity.  
  
"Come, I believe we have just overstayed our welcome."  
  
He swept out of the garden, leaving the woman puzzling at his comment. She looked up at the sun, hoping for a revelation. Midday! The villagers of Baddalaur were freed from the bard's spell.  
  
Katani ran quickly out of the courtyard to catch up with Paedur's long strides, hoping to leave the town as soon as possible. Though she did not possess the bard's extraordinary foresight, Katani could predict with fair accuracy that there would be trouble. 


	6. Persona Non Grata

Chapter Six (Persona Non Grata)  
  
As the pair approached the town gates, they could already see the crowd of people blocking their exit. Katani's hands immediately went to the hilts of her weapons, but Paedur held up a hand, stopping her. Every one of the townspeople looked depravedly angry, and they all seemed to be wielding what looked to be strange hybrids of farming tools and discarded weapons.  
  
"You, stop there!" cried the apparent leader of the rabble. "Come no further." The warning in his voice was barely detectable under a thick quaver of fear.  
  
"Bard!" Katani hissed. "I think perhaps you were right about us overstaying our welcome. Any ideas on how to get us out of this?" He waved a hand to silence her. When he spoke, she knew it was with the aid of the Bardic Voice, a simple voice spell that magnified one's voice and grasped the attention of one's audience firmly.  
  
"We wish to leave the city." Paedur said calmly, quietly even, though everyone present heard him.  
  
"No." replied the leader flatly. Paedur stared at him coldly. He was a big man, certainly as tall as the bard, who was accounted a tall man by most human standards. He had fair blonde hair and a red, round face. His eyes were big and boyish, bright blue, and at the moment terrified. Burly was the best word that could be used to describe his frame, he was more thickset than Paedur, and under normal circumstances could have taken the bard in a fair fight. But therein lied the catch. The blonde-haired man, for all his impressive physique, was a man. And Paedur, despite his appearance, was not. Not anymore.  
  
"You will stay, to be tried by our council." Continued the leader, his resolve obviously shaken by the bard's icy stare. However, he seemed determined to press his luck, which so far had held. "My men will take your weapons."  
  
Paedur was under the impression that this man was most definitely under the influence of Tactocci, the god of fools. As a villager stepped forward and reached out a hand to take the dagger from Paedur's belt, the offending hand found itself trapped in a gleaming half-moon of silver.  
  
"That," the bard said coolly, "Would be spectacularly unwise."  
  
Katani hissed as her swords whistled free of their scabbards. The man still did not remove his hand from Paedur's knife.  
  
"I could take your hand off as easily as plucking an apple; thus, I suggest you remove your hand from my dagger and return to your leader. You see, even if you take that particular blade, there are still several weapons you cannot take from me." He held up the hook, and a tendril of blue flame crackled and snaked along the blade, proving his point. The villager took one startled look at the bard's stone-faced expression and turned, walking back to the crowd as quickly as possible while keeping his dignity intact.  
  
An almost undetectable signal passed through the crowd, and they parted, allowing the black-clad figure and ice-haired demon to pass the city gates untouched.  
  
Once outside city limits and safe on the King's Road again, Paedur turned quickly, hearing a curious hissing noise issuing from under the Katan's helmet. It took him a few moments to realize the woman was laughing.  
  
"What is so amusing?" he asked, staring.  
  
"They are such simple folk, so easily frightened by appearances and a simple display of power. If they had seen you do half the things I have, they would all go to the Nameless God."  
  
He nodded. The warrior-maid was right, after all. He had climbed the Broken Mountain, seen C'lte's kingdom. He had crossed the Grey Wall, had walked the Blessed Isle and the streets of Ui Tyrin. He had witnessed the destruction of the Three Cords and the last fragment of the Chrystallis. He had walked the Silent Wood and the Mire. He had deposed a god, put a new god in his place, and killed others, destroying an entire religion. And after all this, nothing surprised him or indeed truly frightened him anymore. He only wondered what, under the Pantheon's influence, he had become.  
  
Noticing they were walking in the opposite direction from their fortress, Katani, asked, "Where are we going? This isn't the way." She did not believe the bard could be so easily confused, but he looked distracted.  
  
"Plans have changed. We are not going to the fortress."  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"To Karfondal. We have an appointment to see the Emperor." He grinned. This would prove to be interesting. 


	7. Call Him Kingmaker

Chapter Seven (Call Him Kingmaker)  
  
Surrounded by his empire, safe in his palace, Emperor Kutor was depressed. He had still many to bury from the Last Battle, even now, and while that task was nearly finished, Kutor had resigned himself to the fact that the bard was dead.  
  
Dead. The word had such a ring of finality to it. Looking back now, he had not believed the bard had enough human left in him to die. Or to indeed be killed by any mortal means. In the name of the Pantheon, he had survived a battle with Libellius, a battle with Death!  
  
It was because of the bard that Kutor even sat on the throne of the Seven Nations. He smiled to himself. Every recent event, everything that changed history in some monumental way, could be traced back to the hand of the bard. Call him Kingmaker. Godslayer. Destroyer of Faiths.  
  
The Emperor was pulled from his reverie by the appearance of his advisors- Owen, Weapon Master; his slave-companion, Tien tZo; and Keshian, the battle-captain. Fodla, commander of the elite Imperial Guard, was a few steps behind them.  
  
"Emperor Kutor, the dead have been buried, and the memorial ceremony set for tonight." Keshian said by way of greeting. It had been decided that there would be a mass burial service for all those killed in the battle.  
  
Kutor sighed. "So it is done, then?" he asked. "And still no word from Paedur?"  
  
Keshian shook his head. "No."  
  
"We must have a separate ceremony for the bard." The Emperor said, gesturing with his arm a sweeping arc across the courtroom. "He gave us all this."  
  
Fodla shouted in surprise, and all present turned to look.  
  
"Honor the dead," said Paedur, stepping out from behind a pillar, "And let the living in peace. Attend to your empire, Emperor Kutor. There is much yet to be done!"  
  
Owen fired a crossbow at the figure, and a silver hook flashed out and cut the screaming bolt in two.  
  
"It is the bard." He said simply.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Kutor sat at a solid brukwood table, his fingers steepled in front of him. Paedur was seated in a similar manner, his fingertips automatically tracing the runes of his hook.  
  
"How did you survive?" the Emperor asked quietly.  
  
Paedur regarded him with eyes that burned with the reflection of licking flames. Kutor could just barely see himself mirrored amidst the fire. He suppressed a shudder.  
  
"I was not on this Plane of Existence for the larger part of the battle. I was wandering the Void, battling the gods of Trialos."  
  
Kutor exhaled quickly, rubbing his face with a hand. Battling with gods. And apparently the bard had won. "Then you should be dead."  
  
Paedur smiled bemusedly. "But I'm not." He brushed back his hair absently.  
  
"And the warrior?" Kutor asked. "The Katan?"  
  
"Alive and well, with a little help from the Pantheon." Said the bard. "She is in the city at the moment, though I'm not sure where."  
  
Kutor shook his head in disbelief. "What are you?"  
  
Paedur shrugged slightly, smiling and staring at him with those mirror-like eyes.  
  
"I am a bard." 


	8. Tunnel

Chapter Eight (Tunnel)  
  
In the dim, crooked streets of Karfondal, two demons stalked each other.  
  
One demon was of the ice, its skin a pale, glittering blue, with hair as white as snow.  
  
The other demon was strange, foreign, with yellow-tinged skin and slanted green eyes.  
  
The demons were not aware of each other yet. It was the ice demon's task to get into the palace.  
  
It was the green-eyed demon's task to keep it out.  
  
The ice demon noticed the green-eyed demon and growled quietly, baring sharpened teeth.  
  
The green-eyed demon paused in its pacing, looking about suspiciously. It produced twin hand-axes, deftly twirling the blades into the proper position and backing into the tunnel door which it was guarding.  
  
The ice demon moved forward, unsheathing its swords with a dull hiss.  
  
The green eyed demon stepped into the light, axe raised, then paused-  
  
"Katan." Said Tien tZo by way of recognition.  
  
"Shemmat." Replied Katani coolly.  
  
Even after hundreds of years, the Katan and the Shemmatae were not on good terms. The Battle of the Sand Plain was not easily forgotten.  
  
However, both had been ordered to remain civil, and over time a mutual respect had developed. But not a friendship.  
  
"I want to enter the palace." Katani said. "The bard is inside."  
  
"I know." Said the Shemmat, "I saw him this morning. Everyone believed he was dead."  
  
Katani snorted derisively. "It takes more than a single battle to kill the bard."  
  
Tien tZo nodded in agreement. "Yes. I will never forget the night the Master and I first met him. He was like a creature out of legend, and I'm not ashamed to admit that he terrified me."  
  
As he was speaking, the small man raised his axe and brought down a powerful blow on the door's lock. He placed a hand in the center of the door and pushed in inward with a loud creak, beckoning to Katani to follow. She stared at him.  
  
"You could have unlocked it."  
  
"I could have, but there is no key. Come."  
  
Katani followed the Shemmat down the tunnel. It was painted in what she recognized as winterlight, an ancient substance used to illuminate temples and tombs. It glowed dimly in the tunnel, but it was old, and the once elaborate designs had faded and chipped. Katani remembered that the tunnel had once been connected to a house, a brothel. But the house had been destroyed and the statues that had adorned the tunnel had been thankfully removed.  
  
She gripped a large block of mortar and stone and vaulted over it, landing lightly on her feet and turning back to look at the jumble of brick and rocks. It had formerly been a wall, a barrier, but the bard had destroyed it, ripping it apart with his hook. She shook her head, still smiling, and continued on after Tien.  
  
The tunnel came out in a warm, dimly lit room that smelled strongly of aged parchment and ink. Katani pulled herself out of the grate, rolled smoothly to her feet and brushed flecks of winterlight off her armor. Looking around and seeing that the room was a rather large library, she wasn't surprised to find the bard seated in a corner, immersed in a scroll, and seemingly unaware that two people had just entered through the grate.  
  
"Bard?" Katani questioned softly. He didn't respond. She went to his side, peering over his shoulder at the scroll, and was mildly disappointed that it was in a language she did not understand. "Bard." She said, more loudly. Giving up, she tapped him on the shoulder. Without even raising his eyes, he said,  
  
"I know you are there. If you will kindly give me a moment to finish this, then we can be on our way."  
  
A few minutes later he rolled up the scroll, hid it away inside his cloak, and strode out of the library, followed closely by Katani and a bemused-looking Tien. 


	9. Buried Alive

Chapter Nine (Buried Alive)  
  
Paedur the bard was never denied an audience with the Emperor.  
  
He calmly entered the courtroom, Katani behind him, hands on the hilts of her swords. Ever since he had returned her to life the warrior- maid had made it her personal crusade to defend him- not that he needed it.  
  
Kutor looked at the bard curiously, wondering what his request was.  
  
"Emperor Kutor," Paedur began, and everyone present turned to look at the source of the calm, pleasant voice. "In the tunnel connecting this palace to the streets of Karfondal are locked doors. I know that there is no evidence of it, but inside these cells are the remains of the noble families which disappeared under the reign of Geillard XI. They were buried alive."  
  
He paused here, allowing time for the effect his words had to pass. "I wish to ensure that they are provided with a proper burial."  
  
Kutor nodded. "It will be taken care of." He gestured to one of the pages, who immediately left the room. As the bard stepped aside, a crossbow bolt shot through the glass-paned window to the Emperor's right and buried itself in the throne. Kutor leapt up and moved quickly to cover, while Owen and Keshian ran to the shattered arch.  
  
"Whoever it was is gone now." Growled Owen angrily.  
  
"Why would someone attack the throne room?" asked Kutor, still slightly dazed with shock.  
  
Paedur stared at him. "Apparently, Emperor Kutor, someone is not pleased with the way you rule!"  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Kutor and his advisors, now including Paedur, were seated in the Emperor's chambers around the same brukwood table, all in various states of attentiveness. Owen and Keshian leaned forward, eyes intense and angry, even a little frightened. Fodla glared at the Emperor, as if it was by some fault of his own that the assassination had been attempted. Tien tZo was silent, listening with his slanted green eyes moving to each person in turn. The bard stood in a shadowed corner, arms folded in his cloak, silent and barely visible. Katani stood just outside the door, swords drawn.  
  
"It may be a follower of the New Religion, angry at its destruction." Owen suggested.  
  
"Or someone whose friend or relative was killed in the Last Battle."  
  
"Or someone working for Gelliard."  
  
"Has anyone considered Gelliard himself?"  
  
Everyone turned to look at the bard. "What do you mean?" Kutor asked.  
  
"We know Gelliard fled, and we have no proof that he has been killed. And whoever attempted the assassination was either too noticeable or lacked the coin to hire a good assassin. If they had," he gestured at Kutor, "The Emperor would not be sitting in this council."  
  
Silence followed his explanation as if the rest of the council were waiting for his words to sink in. Tien tZo was the first to speak.  
  
"He's right. The nation overall is pleased with the new order of things, you couldn't hire an assassin for anything less than a thousand fist-sized gold pieces to even kill one of us. I can think of no better suspect than Gelliard."  
  
Slowly, as if complete comprehension had finally dawned on him, Kutor nodded. 


	10. Hunted

Chapter Ten (Hunted)  
  
Geillard was a small man, pale, with soft, petite features that made him appear to be a hermaphrodite. And at the moment he was thinner than a beggar. The remaning followers of the defeated New Religion were not treated well in Karfondal. He huddled beneath a crude statue of Trialos, the unfriendly sounds of the city at night terrifying him now that he knew he was without a god and without a guard to defend him.  
  
He swallowed a dry sob threatening to escape his throat. He had so recently been the most powerful man on this Plane of Existence. He had been Emperor of the Seven Nations, higher even than Barthus, Hierophant of the New Religion. He allowed a thin smile of triumph to creep into his face. Barthus was dead now, destroyed by the gods of the Pantheon and their lackey, the bard Paedur. But not Geillard. No, Geillard was alive, though the bard's last words to him caused him to tremble in his bed of straw every night, brought terrible nightmares to haunt the rare sleep he received. After the Hierophant's body had been consumed by the flames, the hookhanded creature had turned to Geillard and said coldly, "I will return for you."  
  
And deep in his soul, where he hid away hid darkest nightmares and most dreadful terrors, Geillard knew it was true. The bard was still alive, oh yes. He had been there that day, in the courtroom- his courtroom- during Geillard's botched attempt at assassinating the imposter. Kutor, his bastard half-brother.  
  
Geillard had not even attempted to kill the bard. He had seen those eyes, deadly mirror-like eyes, and had known that Paedur was not one to be killed by any mere crossbow bolt. But he had missed Kutor, and now the self- styled Emperor knew of Geillard's continued existence. Strangely, the fact that Owen, Weapon-Master and his fierce slave-companion were searching for him did not terrify Geillard. Even the prospect of having to escape Fodla did not frighten him, and he knew all too well how deadly she could be.  
  
It was the bard that terrified him.  
  
At night, as he huddled in his cold pile of damp straw, in a darkened corner of the ruined temple, an image flashed through his mind. An image of a creature, tall and covered in dark fur, eyes burning with a cold flame and wielding a scythe dripping blood. He knew it was only a nightmare, but its uncanny resemblance to the bard often paralyzed him with fear.  
  
Gathering his tattered cloak about him, Geillard crept to his meager bed, so cold now he was without the use of dozens of willing concubines.  
  
A chill wind ruffled the straw around Geillard's face. He shivered and grunted in his sleep, trying to ignore it. Suddenly, he jerked upright, his inner sense screaming danger. He squinted at the doorway of the temple, trying to make out if there was something there. It was like a shadow, like black upon black- and as it stepped inside, silhouetted against the starry night sky, Geillard choked back a scream.  
  
It was the bard.  
  
He advanced threateningly on the trembling man, hook flashing brilliantly in the cold moonlight. His eyes were flat and hard, and Geillard could see his own petrified visage mirrored within them.  
  
All semblance of dignity was gone now. The once-proud emperor cowered at the bard's feet, whimpering, quivering in terror.  
  
"Please, don't kill me-"  
  
Paedur's voice was soft and lethal. "What makes you think I want to kill you?"  
  
Geillard stammered over his answers, which were a mixture of pleas for his life and an affirmation of his wrongs.  
  
Paedur smiled at him, head tilted to one side. Suddenly the smile left his face, and he held up a hand for silence. "Come."  
  
Stumbling after Paedur, Geillard knew without a doubt that if he did not obey, the bard would kill him.  
  
Paedur stopped, turning around and staring intensely at the man who had almost run into him, as if a sudden idea had entered into his mind.  
  
"You were at the monastery, correct? The monastery of the Order of Ectoriage?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How did you escape?" the bard hissed.  
  
Geillard swallowed with difficulty through a throat that was suddenly dry. "I faked my own death."  
  
Paedur nodded slightly, and something moved behind his eyes. "I thought as much."  
  
While the bard was temporarily distracted, Geillard took advantage of the opportunity to slip Paedur's knife out of his boot and thrust it into his chest!  
  
Paedur started at the sudden pain, and looked down at the knife. Geillard's blow had been weak, and the bard's leather jerkin had absorbed much of the blow, but the tip of the blade had pierced his skin, going deep enough to hurt but not to harm. Pulling the knife out, Paedur touched his hook to the wound, healing it instantly, and then grabbed the retreating Geillard by the cloak, slamming the fabric into the ground on the point of his hook. He placed the end of the dagger in the hollow of the terrified man's throat. Geillard struggled in a futile attempt to escape, and Paedur hissed angrily, "Try to move and I will kill you. If it weren't for the fact that I am curious to see what our barbarian prince turned Emperor will do to you once you are in his clutches, you would already be dead. Now, I am only going to say this once, so listen carefully. If you try to escape again, whether it involves harming me or not, you will wish you had died at that monastery. Do you understand?"  
  
Whimpering slightly, Geillard nodded. The bard smiled wickedly.  
  
"Good. Now, I think we should be going. You have an appointment with the Emperor." 


	11. Oblivion

Chapter Eleven (Oblivion)  
  
Kutor listened to his guard's report, smiling grimly. Geillard, once the bard had brought him in, had promptly been taken down to the most disgusting, least habitable dungeon the palace possessed. He was now unconscious, awaiting his trial. Or perhaps immediate execution, depending on Geillard's behavior and the Emperor's whim.  
  
Kutor had been hesitant to believe that Geillard would be captured, but once again he was overwhelmed at Paedur's uncanny ability to do the impossible. The bard was truly gifted, and Kutor could not help but be grateful that he and the Katan had returned to Karfondal. Indeed, he would have had a high position at court- if Kutor had believed he wold take it.  
  
But the bard was not one to sit in a palace all day long, telling tales to suit another's whim. He had changed since his last position at court, or so the other palace workers said. The bard was still enigmatic, still different, still unwilling to alter or embellish a tale to suit the master's whim. But he had changed, it was true. The Paedur that most of the palace had known was a different man. He was known to laugh with real humor, to eat and drink with others, and did not seem to melt into the shadows, wrapped in his cloak, feeling neither heat nor cold. The man Paedur used to be was just that- a man.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Geillard was forsaken.  
  
His gods were dead, he knew that now, after seeing the bard's eyes last night in the temple. It was always in his eyes. Always so cold, so flat and reflective. like the eyes of a dead thing. The eyes of a corpse with no life behind them. Eyes that would, on occasion, burn with an emotion that struck fear into Geillard's heart. The eyes of a killer. Geillard had seen that emotion when the bard had spoken to him. This creature was not human, was soulless.  
  
The eyes of a killer.  
  
Faintly, as if someone was walking quietly down through the dungeons, Geillard heard footsteps. He looked up eagerly, wondering if food and water had perhaps been brought to him. and drew back in horror.  
  
The bard.  
  
Paedur knelt down on the filthy stone floor, as if he was accustomed to such conditions. His hook flashed dully in the light of the torch he brought with him. Fixing his dark eyes on Geillard, he stared at him coldly.  
  
"Why did you return to Karfondal? Surely you knew that you would be discovered, that I would find you."  
  
Geillard, calmer now that he saw the bard had not immediately tried to take his life and that there were bars between them, spoke proudly, voice harsh and overloud.  
  
"I knew that if I disposed of the imposter, if I sent him to Libellius, my Lord Trialos would avenge me and my followers. My gods will destroy you, bard! They will crush you into the earth like the arrogant little ant that you are!" he cried, faith magically restored now that he was not in the face of life-threatening danger.  
  
Paedur listened to the deposed emperor's speech. And when Geillard had finished, he threw back his head and laughed. Geillard knew immediately that he had gone too far, because from this creature before him, laughter was a dangerous thing.  
  
The bard stopped, suddenly, and Geillard started at the immediate silence. Paedur smiled at him, mouth thin and cruel.  
  
"Your gods are dead, Geillard. Destroyed. The only religion now is that of the Pantheon."  
  
"You cannot know that. You have no proof that the lords of Trialos are truly dead." Geillard said defiantly.  
  
Paedur's smile faded. "Yes, I do. I killed them myself."  
  
His hook shot out, hitting Geillard on the side of the head, and the captive man sank into black oblivion.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Katani sat high on the palace walls, studying the stars and naming each of the constellations in the ancient Katan language. She heard a loud clank behind her, and turned to see the bard pulling himself up onto the thick stone wall with his hook. She smiled slightly in greeting, then turned her face back to the sky.  
  
"Uimfe displays his splendor well tonight." He said quietly. She nodded in agreement.  
  
"Where were you? Kutor was searching for you, but he gave up and retired for the night."  
  
Paedur smiled. "I had a small matter to attend to with Geillard."  
  
Katani looked alarmed. "You didn't kill him, did you?"  
  
He laughed softly. "No, though I'm sure by the time he wakes he will wish I would have. I have a feeling that Coulide will be toying with his mind this evening."  
  
Katani looked up at the stars again. "Aye, Coulide has a great and terrible power at his command. I know from experience." She added. "Greater even than the Nameless God, if truth be told."  
  
Paedur said nothing. Too many had gone to the Nameless God or even to Death because of him. In some cases, like his encounter with Geillard, the effect the bard had could be useful to him. But in other instances, it was not. He had, briefly, been apprehensive about returning to Karfondal. He had expected a similar reaction here as there had been in Badaur. But Karfondal was the capital, whereas Badaur was a small village centered around a bardhouse where everyone knew his name. and who he had used to be.  
  
Katani stared at him, as if expecting something. He smiled at her.  
  
"It is late. I must go inside. Good night."  
  
"Good night, bard." She replied, attention already diverted to the sky again. 


	12. Invaded by Memory

Chapter Twelve (Invaded by Memory)  
  
The day dawned bright and clear, and a sultry wind blew the scent of ripening fruit into Owen's bedchamber. He woke slowly, almost unwillingly, but a deep-rooted sense of duty kept him getting out of bed every morning. It was almost as if he owed the world something, his life was now so much better than it had been. But he knew that was not true. And everytime he looked at the near-invisible mark on his arm where the iron band had been, he knew what the truth was.  
  
He owed the bard something. It was a debt he could never repay. Paedur had freed him from the Iron Band of Kloor, given Owen his faith back. He had given the Weapon Master a purpose in life, a reason to get out of his bed every morning. Had kept him from becoming like that cowering bit of filth currently residing in the palace dungeons. And Owen could never return the favor. The bard was well beyond his help. Beyond anyone's.  
  
Since Paedur's return, Owen had noticed a definite change in the Emperor. Kutor was less self-governed, more willing to listen to the opinions of others, especially the bard's. Kutor had spent close to two hours last night searching for Paedur, wanting to ask his opinion on Geillard's punishment. He had finally given up when Tien tZo pointed out that the bard was not likely to be found until he wanted to be.  
  
Dressing and arming himself lightly, Owen proceeded to his work for the day, which was mainly basic military work, of no pressing importance at the moment.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
In the dim light of a hut, just outside Karfondal, a man watched the distinctive glitter of polished blades.  
  
Lucius was a man of average height and build. His hair was an indeterminate color, a mottled mixture of brown, dirty blonde and grey. His skin was lightly tanned and clear, save for a long, pearly white scar running from his temple to below his jaw. This scar was unique in that he had received it from a weapon unlike any other on that Plane of Existence.  
  
Baring his teeth in what was more a snarl than a smile, Lucius armed himself. A Chopt knife hung in a sheath across his back, and a curved falchion gleamed in his belt. Slim stilettos and throwing knives were hidden away in his dark red tunic and brown breeches. Fastening his simple tan cloak at his throat, Lucius, once Bard Master at Badaur, stepped out and faced his army.  
  
His army was small. No more than a dozen Chopts stood waiting in a semicircle. But the beasts were fearsome. Larger than a human, they were brutishly strong and covered in a tough, hair-covered skin that more resembled a thick hide than anything else. Each were armed with one or even two of the broad-bladed Chopt knives.  
  
"We march to Karfondal!" Lucius cried in a hoarse voice, a voice that sounded as if it were not accustomed to being used. "To Karfondal," he repeated, "For it is there that those who killed your brothers live. One man, however, you will leave to me. I have a revenge of my own to exact on him." He paused, a lunatic grin flitting briefly across his face.  
  
"The flesh of the others is yours. But as you value your lives, do not touch Paedur the bard!"  
  
************************************************************************  
  
In the bright light of midmorning, Katani was to be found in the palace courtyards.  
  
The warrior-maid had missed much of life while in the Silent Wood, and she enjoyed spending time outdoors. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to taste, to hear the sound of a living world, to see the light of a true sun reflecting off her blades. To feel wind, or rain or even snow. To fight all the more fiercely in battle, because she knew that if she died she would not rise again. The bard had made this clear to her. Katani remembered the conversation perfectly-  
  
"You will have to fight well from now on, warrior-maid." He had said. She looked at him in disgust.  
  
"I am Katan, bard, I always have."  
  
He smiled at her. "Ah, but now you must be extremely careful, avoiding recklessness at all costs. That is, if you wish to remain in the World of Men?"  
  
They had been walking, and he stopped and looked at her.  
  
She nodded. "I understand.".  
  
A familiar voice cut through her memory, and she started as her hand automatically went to the hilt of her shortsword.  
  
"I believe there is a storm coming." Paedur commented mildly, stepping into the courtyard.  
  
Katani looked up at the sky, which had abruptly changed from clear blue to cloudy grey.  
  
"I believe you're right, bard." She replied, amber eyes clear and alert. She had returned quickly from her journey in her own mind.  
  
"Let us hope the Stormlord does not play host to Snaitle, the Cold God, lest our visitor in the dungeons goes to Churon early." Paedur remarked dryly. A huge booming clap echoed across the city as a thunderhead moved into view.  
  
"Baistigh." Katani affirmed, naming the Lord of Thunder. The bard had taught her that the hand of the gods could be seen in everything. It was a reminder of Death's Law- Men are but playthings of the gods, pieces to be moved around the gameboard at will.  
  
Suddenly Paedur's head turned sharply to one side, staring at the palace walls.  
  
Katani stiffened. "What is it?" He held up a hand for silence, mouthing one word.  
  
"Danger."  
  
Katani bared her teeth as her swords silently left their scabbards. She dropped lightly down off the wall. Paedur was treading slowly along the length of the wall, pausing every few steps with a curious look on his face.  
  
Then, in an instant, the quiet of the courtyard exploded into chaos. 


	13. Temporary Demise

Chapter Thirteen (Temporary Demise)  
  
Chopts poured into the confines of the garden, bellowing and wielding the huge knives for which they were famous. Owen, Fodla, and two Imperial guards rushed out of the nearest door. The guards, unprepared and unfamiliar with the Chopts, died almost instantly, cut down by a single beast. Another Chopt, however, had fallen, Owen's thrown knife protruding from its now gore-covered eye socket, and Fodla had disemboweled two of the creatures with a single swing of her own Chopt knife.  
  
Katani was fighting skillfully, Paedur noted, when he could spare a moment to glance around. She had taken on several of the beasts herself, and while she couldn't get enough reach to deliver a fatal blow to any of them, she was still inflicting terrible damage.  
  
The Chopts seemed to be deliberately ignoring Paedur, and this warned him that there was someone else coming, someone who wanted to destroy him themselves.  
  
And just as he withdrew his enhanced senses from their search around the walls, a man entered the courtyard.  
  
All activity seemed to stop. Fighting stilled in mid-blow, and every pair of eyes turned to look at the confrontation between Paedur and the newcomer.  
  
Lucius smiled coldly, insanely, and stepped towards Paedur.  
  
"Paedur the bard. How long since we last met."  
  
"Lucius," Paedur replied, surprised to see his old enemy, here among new enemies. "Why have you returned?"  
  
"To take revenge, Hookhand!" Lucius spat angrily. "To remind you of what you did to me, to my life."  
  
Paedur stared at him. "I do not understand." He said sincerely.  
  
Lucius grinned. "No, of course you don't. You never had to spend years living off scraps, unable to fill a position any higher than a mere scholar while your enemy rose to the place of Bard Master, and further. I have heard of your escapades with the Pantheon."  
  
Paedur laughed harshly. "Do you think I enjoyed that, Lucius? Would you rather you had the burden? Well here, then, take it!" He hissed. "It is no longer mine to give. The Pantheon holds my soul, Lucius. For eternity. I am a prisoner of my own gods."  
  
Lucius snarled. "Ah, yes. The noble hero, so oppressed by those that gave him eternal life. You should never have made it that far, Hookhand." He snapped. "I should have been the one to fill the place of the Emperor's Bard, but no. They would never send me, not after what you did to me." His hand lifted up and unconsciously traced the scar running along the side of his face.  
  
Paedur stared at him. Lucius had always been rash, always letting anger get in the way of his intelligence, but now, he was insane.  
  
"You think they kept you out because of a little scar, Lucius? Look at this!" he shouted angrily, holding up his hook, and everyone who knew him twitched. Paedur did not shout. "They sent me to fill the position because I was better than you." He said, voice low and deadly, pronouncing every word with emphasis.  
  
"No!" cried Lucius, and the lunatic gleamed behind his eyes again. Then he smiled. "But no matter. We will settle this now, you and I. Come, a duel."  
  
Face still drawn with anger, Paedur smiled. "You will regret that, Lucius. I advise against it."  
  
Lucius grinned widely. "No, Hookhand, you are the one who will regret it." He drew his falchion.  
  
As the two bards started into motion, the battle between the Chopts and the palace defenders continued.  
  
Paedur and Lucius circled, each unwilling to have the other at their back. Lucius looked deranged, Paedur was calm, though a trace of anger could still be seen in his angular face.  
  
"I have slain gods, Lucius." Paedur said quietly, voice soft and without the barest trace of boasting.  
  
The manic grin on his opponent's face flickered slightly, and Lucius, eager to end the fight, lunged with his falchion. Paedur neatly sidestepped the blow, looking around at the battle. Owen, Fodla and Katani were holding up well.  
  
"A clever trick, Hookhand." Lucius snarled, bringing Paedur's attention back to his own fight. He waved his falchion, attempting to distract the bard, and withdrew a stiletto from his belt. Paedur's hook shot out and knocked the blade from Lucius' hand, slashing a shallow groove over his wrist. Lucius stared at the blood in surprise.  
  
"You have scarred me again, Hookhand." He growled angrily.  
  
Paedur merely tilted his head in acknowledgement.  
  
"You will not win this fight, Lucius." He said quietly. "Even if you kill me, you will not defeat me."  
  
Lucius bared his teeth in a feral grin. "Idle threats, Hookhand. You said you would kill me when we studied together at Badaur. Yet all you gave me was this." He raised a bloody finger and ran it along his scar, painting the pearly white line red.  
  
Paedur lashed out with his hook, opening the scar once more. Blood ran freely down Lucius' face, staining his cloak. "Damn you, bard!" he shouted, lunging at Paedur. Paedur's hook encircled the blade of the falchion, snapping it, and Lucius dropped the hilt from nerveless fingers.  
  
As Lucius fell, Paedur slashed at his side, opening a gash down the side of his ribcage.  
  
Momentarily devoid of an opponent, Paedur looked around. Owen and Fodla had fallen, though a flare of his enhanced senses told him they were still alive, while dead Chopts lay all around them. Katani was not faring well. She was apparently growing weaker, bleeding from a dozen wounds, but even as he watched another of the beasts fell to her sword.  
  
And then, another creature appeared behind her, raising its knife for a decapitating blow. Paedur looked quickly down at Lucius, who was pulling himself to his feet, and risked a few more seconds.  
  
"Katani! Behind you!"  
  
Immediately the warrior dropped, spinning round, and cut the Chopt's legs out from under it.  
  
And Paedur felt a sharp, piercing agony as Lucius slammed a knife into his chest. Briefly, the bard could make out his opponent's laugh, then all faded into blackness.  
  
He woke in the Silent Wood. Staggering to his feet, he struggled to clear his mouth of the ashes that always accompanied death. His head was spinning, and he felt weak and drunken, paradoxically human again now that he was dead. Finally spitting out the last bit of ash, he looked up to see Churon gliding towards him.  
  
"Am I dead?" Paedur asked immediately, and Churon chuckled.  
  
"Not truly, bard. Mannam's promise to you still stands."  
  
"How fares Katani?"  
  
"See for yourself."  
  
The air next to Churon's head shimmered, and then depicted a moving image of the battle scene Paedur had just left. He watched bemusedly as Katani fought her way through the last of the beasts to his body. Lucius ignored her, believing his task was complete, and walked away laughing. But no Katan warrior was easily ignored. Baring her teeth in rage, her longsword dripping with blood, Katani rose and stalked after him.  
  
"No." Paedur said loudly, and the image flickered and died. "He is mine to kill." He added.  
  
"Not today, bard." Churon said dryly.  
  
"Get C'lte. Send me back." Paedur snapped.  
  
"He is already on his way."  
  
"And until then?"  
  
"You are dead, bard."  
  
"I have been dead before."  
  
"And will be again, I assure you." 


	14. Unconquerable

Chapter Fourteen (Unconquerable)  
  
C'lte arrived quickly, his saffron-yellow cloud disintegrating as he landed lightly on his feet.  
  
"My visits to your kingdom have become increasingly frequent, Death. What is your reason for summoning me?" he snapped, voice crisp and irritable.  
  
Churon stepped aside to reveal Paedur, who was crouched on the ground, idly tracing designs in the gritty soil with his hook.  
  
"Ah. I should have guessed." C'lte said dryly. "So, you have finally met an opponent who could kill you, bard, and apparently has killed you. I take it you wish to return to the World of Men?"  
  
Paedur nodded, and C'lte laughed. "Why should I give you life when I have so recently helped save your companion?"  
  
Paedur stared at him coldly. "Would you rather have my companion healed, but rampaging around the Planes of Existence, deprived of a calm mind to guide her?"  
  
He suppressed a smile. Katani hardly needed his guidance, but there was no need for the Yellow God to know that.  
  
"Mannam's promise to him still stands." Churon pointed out in Paedur's defense.  
  
"Very well." C'lte said sharply, resting his fingertips on the bard's head. The runes in Paedur's hook sparkled gold, and his hook began to glow with a warmth that flowed through him, washing over him.  
  
"I will have one of my bainte return your essence to your corporeal body." Churon assured him, as Paedur watched himself fade into nothing. He could feel the heat from his hook, and the strands of hair brushing against his face, but as far as he could tell he was no longer visible or even existent. He felt a momentary stab of pain, easing into a numb tingling, as the talons of the strange, winged bainte gripped his shoulders. The bainte lifted him as if he weighed nothing, and then they were flying. Watching the figures of the gods shrink beneath him, Paedur went higher into the flat grey sky of the Silent Wood, and then- a void.  
  
A hand of iron gripped Paedur's chest, contracting tightly. It was ice cold, freezing the breath in his lungs and constricting his beating heart.  
  
His beating heart? Paedur started to gasp in surprise but choked on the cold. He was an immortal, he did not have a life-beat. Perhaps the journey through the bainte's void rendered him mortal, at least for a time. But the pain was too great for Paedur to concentrate on anything- except for the lances of agony that shot through his body as he struggled to breathe in a place where nothing existed but cold.  
  
Just as he thought he would die from the pain, an irony after not having truly felt it for so long, Paedur felt himself land, in a sense. He sat bolt upright as his essence reentered his body, gasping as any man does after Coulide sends him a nightmare. Katani, busily hamstringing the barely alive Lucius, spun around at the sudden noise.  
  
"Bard?!"  
  
He smiled, and laughed, the first true laugh he had uttered in the gods remembered how long.  
  
"I told you I had difficulty staying dead!"  
  
************************************************************************ After staggering to his feet, his own body feeling oddly heavy and unnatural after his journey through the void, Paedur walked over to the dying Lucius, who was lying in the center of the courtyard. Crouching beside the man's body, Paedur carefully avoided the pool of blood spreading from his old rival's body and sidestepped the dead Chopts that surrounded him.  
  
"Lucius, Lucius." He said coldly, black reflective eyes staring into the bloodied face of Katani's victim. The warrior-maid rarely tortured her victims unless she desired to extract information, Paedur mused briefly. His death must have warranted a special occasion.  
  
"Surely you knew this would befall you? I warned you, Lucius. I told you that you could not defeat me, even if you killed me. I am the plaything of the Pantheon. And I believe you've met my companion, Katani?" he asked softly, gesturing at the broadly grinning Katan. Lucius groaned at the mention of her name. Paedur smiled, mouth thin and cruel.  
  
"Well, she has certainly done an excellent job on you." He said mildly, briefly looking over the mutilated body, where in some places bone was visible. "I think you might have lingered on this Plane of Existence for some time, she was quite careful with you." He paused to flash an amused look at Katani. "But, as I mentioned to the Lord of the Dead during that little visit you sent me on, you were mine to kill. So much as I hate to end this suffering Katani has worked so hard to inflict, I'm afraid I must dispose of you." He raised his hook, and it gleamed blood red in the setting sun.  
  
"Goodbye, Lucius."  
  
The feral smile faded from Paedur's face, replaced by the visage of a tired man, as the point of the hook struck home.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Katani sat in her quarters, mending the rents in her armor with a simple spell all the Katan sisters knew. It called upon Buiva, god of war, to guard and protect them in battle, leaving no vulnerable spot to be pierced by sword or dagger.  
  
The firelight flickered and glimmered off of her blades, which lay in one corner, cleaned and presently drying. All blood, some hers, some Chopt, mostly Lucius', had been washed out of her clothes, but a long, dark red streak could still be seen in her hair. That streak refused to come out, and in the end, Katani had given up, knowing eventually it would fade or vanish in time. For the moment, she had braided it into a long, dark strand contrasting sharply with her ice-white hair.  
  
Paedur flinched every time he looked at her.  
  
It confused the warrior. He had seemed relieved, even pleased, to kill the intruder. the man, she remembered with a scowl, who had, albeit briefly, taken Paedur's life. Yet now, whenever she saw the bard, he was brooding in a corner, an odd expression on his face. And while he forced a smile at her appearance, the bloodstained lock of hair brought an emotion close to pain into his sharp features. She shook her head, unable to comprehend, and blew out the candle. There would be time to wonder tomorrow. 


	15. Coup de Grace

Chapter Fifteen- _"Coup' de Grace"_

Execution.

People thrive on death and destruction. A single word- execution- can draw an entire village to the town's epicenter.

Needless to say, Gelliard had been sentenced.

Kutor had settled on not too barbaric a punishment, though his natural inclination was to do otherwise. Tien tZo had cleverly pointed out that with no Deathgod, the deposed monarch had little enough to look forward to. Why waste their energy trying to make his death more terrifying?

A guillotine waited on a timeworn stone platform. Originally built in the time of the Culai as temple steps, the stone monolith had since been used as an altar for sacrifices (both human and otherwise) and, most recently, as a stage for public executions. Geillard himself had decreed that it be used for this purpose, as he as overly fond of making an example of his enemies, and now he would die on his own murder block.

The day was overcast, great threatening thunderheads rolling up on the western horizon, the bloody red of the rising sun creating a dramatic effect. The granite steps leading up to the platform were bloodstained as well, Gelliard noticed as he was thrown down before the altar.

"Get up, Emperor!" Katani snarled from the crowd contemptuously.

Paedur placed a firm hand on her arm. "Silence, warrior maid. Even you would be weak when faced with such a fate. But who are we to question the Emperor's judgment?" There was a bitter tone in his voice. It seemed that the bard was Kutor's greatest adviser when it was convenient for him, yet when the new ruler heard something he did not like from the Shanaqui's lips, he turned his back on the words of someone far wiser than he. Paedur could have possessed a powerful seat at court, but he had an unfortunate habit of telling the truth even when an embellishment would have been preferred.

The barbarian prince had gone the way of all monarchs- given little power, they believe they possess more and name themselves Godheads.

Gelliard was dragged up the steps by two burly palace guards, one wearing a mask that covered his entire face.

"Why do you wear that?" He asked the executioner coldly, his voice pained and utterly raw.

The masked man chuckled. "So that the bainte that come to claim your soul will recognize that you are the dead man and not I."

Gelliard shook his head. "Take it off, fool. You won't be needing it."

"You plan to escape?" The other guard laughed. "And he's the fool?"

Gelliard looked away, up at the thunderheads which were approaching more rapidly with each passing moment. "I stand no chance of escape, this I know. But you need not fear for your own souls- there will be no bainte coming for me."

"Yes, there will be." a man's voice said as another figure stepped up onto the platform. Kneeling as he was with his head twisted back, Gelliard could only see the boots of the figure. Black and very old...

"Stand aside." Paedur ordered, his voice cold, and the death warders moved without question, eyeing the flash of silver warily. The bard knelt beside the cringing condemned.

"Do you fear death?" he asked softly.

"Yes." Gelliard choked. He had no afterlife to seek solace in, was headed to the Gorge of the Damned...why must they send this devil to torment him one last time?

"You know that Libellius and the rest of your would-be gods will not protect you this time?"

The condemned man answered very quietly. "Yes."

"You had a chance once, at the monastery, to reclaim your lost faith. You threw it away once- would you take it now, if I offered it to you?"

Gelliard was bitter. "Even you could not instill a lifetime's worth of faith to a man who lays about to die on his own execution block."

Paedur smiled thinly. "You would be amazed, Emperor, at what I can do."

He rose, pulling man and manacles to his feet with seemingly no effort at all. "Gelliard, do you have faith in Churon, Lord of the Dead?"

Gelliard hesitated, afraid.

"Do you?"

"Yes! Yes."

"I absolve you of your past transgression against this god and all others of the Old Faith." the bard replied. Even as he spoke, a chilling wind blew up from the east, throwing out his cloak and carrying away the voices of the crowd in its invisible wings.

Gelliard could hear Paedur's prayer to his gods echoing in his mind. _Gods of the Pantheon, your servant begs mercy, not for himself but for this man who stands before you, facing death and an afterlife spent with the damned. His transgressions are many and severe-he has rejected you, embraced the faith that surrounded your enemies. He has allied himself with those you have cast out and sought to destroy you and the one you have marked as your own. _Gelliard started at the bard's reference to himself as the first raindrops began to fall from the heavens.

_Yet now he stands before you begging your forgiveness. I ask this of you- do not refuse him!_

Paedur stepped aside, giving the executioner leave to complete his work as the sky turned nearly black. He took Gelliard by the shoulder. "May Churon accept your soul."

"Thank you." Gelliard sobbed.

Paedur turned and descended the steps. Katani grabbed his arm, intending to inquire as to what he had done, but her grip tightened as a broadsword thudded against the stained wooden block.

"The Gorge will have one less soul to feed on this night." Paedur said and, drawing his cloak about him, turned his back on the scene.

Kutor sat brooding in his throne room, his narrow jaw resting on his fist.

He did not know whether to be angry or indifferent, or anything for that matter. He could not settle on just a single emotion.

Though orders had been given that no one was to approach the condemned, the guards had let the bard pass unheeded. This he could forgive and even understand- if he himself had been in their place, he was sure he would have done the same faced with the Shanaqui.

But why had the bard disobeyed his decree? Though Kutor hardly believed that Paedur followed the orders of anyone except perhaps his gods, the Emperor saw no reason for the storyteller to approach Gelliard at all- they were hardly on friendly terms.

As if in response to his thoughts, the double doors to the throne room were thrown open and the bard himself strode in, Katani at his heels.

"Emperor." Paedur said quietly, inclining his head.

"Bard." Kutor replied. "You spoke to Gelliard, before his execution?"

"I did."

The Emperor nodded. "And?"

"He wished to be absolved. I did so."

Kutor half stood, a look of brief anger crossing his rough but noble features. "Why?"

Paedur shook his head and laughed softly. "Would you not have me do the same, were you in his place?"

"That was not your decision to make. Do you believe you can hold this throne better than I?" the Emperor snapped. Losing his temper too easily, it seemed.

Katani stepped forward, her hand on the hilt of her short sword in its sheath. "I have no doubt-"

Holding up a hand, Paedur silenced her. He smiled slightly at the Emperor, but there was no warmth in the expression. "I am a bard, Kutor, not an Emperor. But I make my own decisions, and do what I feel I must." He paused, and his reflective eyes, which had turned dark with what could be anger, lightened slightly. "You have had a trying day, Emperor. Perhaps you should consider retiring to your chambers."

Even as he spoke, a wave of slight, warm drowsiness washed over the ruler and he watched the bard and the warrior as they left without calling them back. But an icy voice in his head returned him to full awareness.

_You hold your throne well, Emperor, it is true. But occasionally, you drink too deep of your power. Be sure that although you now have your seat of authority, you do not forget the authority of those who put you there. _

In the morning, it was unlikely that Kutor would remember anything of their encounter but the vague memory of that warning.


	16. Abandon

Chapter Sixteen-_"Abandon"_

Kutor woke to the sound of birdsong. He knew that the particular breed of bird was not native to his city; several of his more gifted servants had bought them from merchants selling exotics. The brightly colored creatures were specifically trained to stay in the Emperor's beloved garden.

One of the birds hopped up onto the sill of his window, and he smiled. A moment later, the creature fled as a noise sounded on the balcony. Kutor turned his head sharply toward the source of the noise, expecting with a slight pang of dread the appearance of another assassin.

Instead he saw the bard. Sighing with a blend of emotions- relief and anger and a slight tinge of shame; he sat up, then stood. Although he was fairly certain- fairly- that Paedur would not harm him, he felt oddly vulnerable without a weapon. The well-remembered habits of an outlaw prince with a price on his head, he thought bitterly.

The noise he had heard was the slight but shrieking scrape of metal against a stone- the bard's hook against the wall of the balcony. It was a bright, clear-skied day, but the storyteller stood in the only corner of the landing that was shadowed. Kutor shook his head, wondering how long the bard had been there. Judging from his relaxed position, quite a long time. But that was really no indication- the bard was relaxed wherever he went- he had no reason to be otherwise.

"I see you've joined us in the daylit realm, Emperor."

The Emperor felt a chill run down his spine. How long, exactly, had the bard been standing there?

He shook the feeling off with a mental reassurance. Paedur was smiling as if he was in on a secret that the Emperor did not want him to know, and Kutor was vividly reminded that the skill or reading minds was not beyond the Shanaqui.

"What do you want, bard?" he snapped, suddenly annoyed at the nerve of the man- so to speak- invading his chambers without so much as a by-your-leave. Though Kutor owed Paedur his life several times over, the Emperor was used to a certain level of living and a certain routine that he did not like to be disturbed. And since the bard had returned to Karfondal, that routine had been utterly mutilated.

Paedur tilted his head in assent. "I feel I have outstayed my welcome in Karfondal."

Though he had expressed annoyance at the cacophony of turmoil that accompanied the bard's presence, when faced with the possibility of the absence of the same, Kutor was uneasy, to say the least. "Why?" he queried.

Smiling wryly, the bard turned away. "That is to say, Karfondal has not necessarily tired of me-" here he paused tellingly, "But I have business to attend to elsewhere."

Kutor shook his head. When the tale-spinner had made a decision, it was a hopeless task to change his mind. Paedur seemed not only to see the future, but to create it.

"So be it."

Paedur was at the door. "Excellent."

Katani whimpered as the flames attempted to swallow up her already beaten body. She couldn't move- her legs were locked in place by magic or will or both. She felt the hot wind whip her hair back from her face painfully as the strange sounding Katan language, in her voice, echoed out across the chaotic battlefield. The Lament of Lugas saved many, but laid claim to only one, and she was certain she was that one. She collapsed, and someone far stronger than she reached out to catch her as she fell...

"Katani." A soft, familiar voice called the warrior maid from her dream. She opened her eyes and looked around- the bard was leaning against her doorway.

"What is it?" she asked irritably. The part of her that was still terrified of the nightmare was glad for his presence that called her back from the dreamhell, but the fierce Katan warrior did not want anyone to see her during a moment of weakness… not even the bard.

Paedur studied her. "You have been having nightmares again." He said. It was not a question.

She shook her head, looking angry. "No."

The bard did not press the matter, but only replied, "Coulide shields none from his magic."

She sighed and got up. Paedur fingered the blade of his hook, then spoke.

"I will be leaving Karfondal. Tonight, preferably."

Without a word, Katani reached for her satchel and inside it packed the few belongings she carried with her. Paedur held up his hand, shaking his head.

"You will not be coming with me." He said quietly but firmly.

There were two reasons for this that Paedur harbored in his mind. The first was that his companion was, though she said nothing to him of course, happy to be back in Karfondal- despite the recent disruption. It was a place run by routine, and she had had little enough of that since joining the bard.

The second was that he suspected that she would be harmed or killed if she followed where he was going.

He looked at the Katan's face, which had clouded with anger. "You would leave me behind like a silly girl-child that needs to be protected from the dangers of the wide world? I think not, bard. I followed you out of death, I follow you wherever else it is you would go." She snapped. The tone in her voice brooked no argument, but Paedur was not to be disagreed with either.

"My decision is final, warrior maid." He said, his voice cold. "I do not wish for anyone to follow me to my destination, not even you. You will wait here for my return, if you please." He paused, then continued in not so harsh a tone. "If not, then go where you will." He turned to leave.

"You cannot leave me behind, bard." She said behind him, her voice stiff with anger. "The Katan are among the best trackers in the world. You cannot keep me here."

He stopped and without turning around replied coolly, "Can't I?"

Katani threw a curse at the door that closed behind him.


	17. Sojourn

Chapter Seventeen- _"Sojourn"_

Paedur's subtle threat to the warrior maid was empty- he did nothing to trap her inside Karfondal. He doubted she would take well to being locked inside a cage, even one as big as the Imperial City. In any case, there was slim chance that she would be able to trail him as it was.

He left the city just before dawn, when even the nocturnal wanderers had settled into some doorway or alley for the remaining hours. The flat grey of a false dawn crept across the starry sky and the world lightened to a dusky, shadowy twilight.

The gates to Karfondal were closed, the guards half asleep. Paedur stepped up to the gate house and one of the armed men came out of his stupor enough to fix his bleary gaze on the bard and inform him curtly, "The gates are closed until sunup."

Paedur rested his hook against the doorframe. The guard's eyes widened.

"I wish to leave now." He said coolly. "Afterwards, do what you will."

The gatekeepers swung open the huge barriers, each side over ten feet wide and twenty feet high. Even with the complicated lever system, it took two men at each side to swing the massive creaking doors open.

Paedur left the city without looking back, his hook throbbing and the whispers in his mind growing louder as he traveled towards the place he sought.

But first, down the King's Road.

The part of it that had been deemed impassable by Imperial surveyors over twenty years ago. Another road had been built around the so called "badlands," for the sake of continuing transportation, but the old trail had never been destroyed and was reputed to not only be lethally inhospitable, but haunted by the shades of travelers that had dared brave its reputation.

It led where the bard felt himself called to go.

The air was hot and dry, the land barren and arid. Bones of unidentifiable nature lay scattered amidst massive boulders and the only sound was that of Paedur's boots crunching over the dusty yellow gravel.

Stopping in the shadow of a particularly large monolith, the bard cast himself down, leaning against the rock and looking up without squinting into the blazing bright light of the sun. He was far from exhausted, but the heat was oppressive and despite the fact that it was sweltering at that moment, it was not far from nightfall. He saw no need to go on.

A shriek ripped across the sky as shadows raced across the blasted landscape.

Paedur leapt to his feet, swung around and impaled one of the attacking creatures on his hook as many more bore down on him.

The bard lashed out quickly and efficiently, but there were many of the flying demons. One of the leathery winged screamers fell to the earth, another victim to his flashing hook. The creatures were as vicious on the ground as they were in the air, however, and the injured beast launched itself at Paedur on the short, muscle-knotted talons.

Paedur ducked the attack of one still in the air as he reflected that it was strange to be fighting without the white-haired warrior woman a few steps away.

A horned demon clad in serpent skin leapt down from a boulder and landed on the screamer with a sickening crunch.

"Bard!" A harsh, familiar voice cried, sounding oddly hollow.

"Katani," the bard said, spinning to take out another of the screamers on the point of his hook. "It is called 'no-man's-land' for a reason."

So she had succeeded in following him anyway.

"You are here." She returned in an accusing tone.

He held his hook aloft as it began to pulse with blue fire. "I am not a man."

Katani nodded in assent as her swords left their scabbards in a whistling arc. "Neither am I."

Paedur turned his gaze to her. "It would be in your best interest to crouch behind that boulder right about now…" he said quietly.

"To hide from these things?" She growled, incredulous.

"No…" he continued as the runes on his hook began to pulse with magic. "Get down!"

Just as Katani threw herself behind the boulder, the air exploded.

The screamers, scorched and blackened by bright blue fire, either fell to the ground dead or took to the skies and fled.

A twisting blue light and howling wind ripped across the landscape. The light centered around the bard, highlighting his stony face with an ethereal glow. The cloak billowed back, filled with an icy wind, and a thunderclap echoed across the flat landscape as lightening split the sky.

"So." Paedur said, turning to Katani as the wind whipped higher into the swiftly blackening sky and the first of the rain began to fall, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather be in Karfondal?"


	18. Called

Chapter Eighteen- _"Called"_

"Why are you here?" Katani asked, stoking the fire that was suspiciously warm for being kept ablaze by twigs and dry brush. She took a piece of dried meat out of her pack and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. The rain had stopped, but it had been torrential and the fabric of the bag was still damp.

Paedur shrugged, leaning back against the rock they camped by and tracing the runes on his hook. "Coulide has been sending dreams that urge me to travel. I received the distinct impression that my presence was needed. At first I believed it was only the Nameless God attempting to toy with me, but as I journey further the assurance that what I sense is real grows stronger."

Katani frowned, attempting to make sense of it, then decided to store away the bard's words for a time when they meant more to her. "What were the things that attacked you?" she queried.

"They were Sekinas. Ancient creatures, reputed to have been created by the Culai, like so many other races. They are related to the bainte of the Silent Wood, but unlike their cousins, they are meant to exist in this world. However, their close, metaphysical ties to death makes them prone to madness as you saw evidence of today."

Katani nodded. Death breeds madness. That, at least, she could relate to.

She yawned and moved closer to the fire, shivering. "How can a place so damned hot get so cold when the sun goes down?" she muttered.

Paedur threw his cloak around her shoulders. She glared at him, he waved away the look. "I don't need it." He said dryly. "Sleep."

"Wake me to keep watch." She commanded firmly as Paedur gripped the boulder and pulled himself onto its flattish top. The warrior maid sent another glare at him, just for good measure, then yawned again, stretched out beneath the cloak and fell asleep.

He never woke her.

"It is time to go, warrior maid." Katani heard Paedur say the next morning. The sun had not yet begun to scorch the land – it was only then sending streaks of orange across the sky.

"I'm awake," she grumbled. "Mostly." She stamped out the remains of the fire and swung her pack onto her back, checking her swords.

Paedur turned his gaze to the rising sun, dropping down off the rock. His eyes reflected the orange streaks and looked slightly demonic. "We must hurry if we wish to escape the heat."

Not for the first time, he spoke her thoughts- the heat was nothing to him, but in her armor, if the day was severe it could kill her.

He set out, and she jogged a few steps to catch up with his long strides. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"The Burning City."


End file.
